


Beware the Nice Ones

by Inksinger



Series: On Azerothian Soil [2]
Category: World of Warcraft
Genre: Blood Elves, Fluff, High Elves, Magisterium, Quel'Thalas, Sin'dorei, blood elf, high elf, pre-Warcraft, quel'dorei, young Aethas
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-18
Updated: 2013-11-18
Packaged: 2018-01-01 22:31:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,736
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1049325
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Inksinger/pseuds/Inksinger
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>An extended peek at the incident involving Aethas and the teacher foolish enough to try destroying his hawkstrider doll, first shown in 'When Shadows Close About You'. Featuring some of my headcanons concerning Aethas and Thalen prior to the events in Warcraft III.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Beware the Nice Ones

Leather-booted feet kicked impatiently underneath a richly made mahogany bench, stilling only when a long-fingered hand came to rest across the little knees above them; the owner of those feet, a red-haired boy who seemed to have a decade or two to go before he reached physical maturity, clutched a red-and-purple hawkstrider doll close to his chest and glared sullenly through locks of his hair at the magister seated beside him. Tear streaks cut clear paths through the dirt smudges on the boy's cheeks, and his apprentice's robes were scuffed across the knees.

"None of that, now," the pale-haired man beside him murmured. "You brought this on yourself, little master. You struck a teacher. The least you can do now is accept your punishment with dignity."

"He deserved it," the boy muttered, hugging his little doll even more tightly.

"All the more reason to keep your chin up, then," the magister chuckled. "If you're going to attack someone, little master, you should do it knowing you may be brought to justice for it by your target's comrades... or your teachers, in this case." He reached over and flicked a strand of hair from the boy's face as he added, "And if you encounter a consequence you did not expect, you should face it boldly all the same, rather than hide your face and pout over the injustice of it. That's part of what it means to be Quel'dorei--to be high elven."

"Magistrix Liselli says being Quel'dorei means you learn and grow better from your mistakes," Aethas countered, tucking another bit of his hair behind a long ear tip.

"That's part of it, too," the magister answered with a smile. "We high elves are a very complex people. As important as it is to know what you're getting yourself into, it's even more important to make sure your every action benefits your people in some way. Even if you fail to achieve your initial goal," he stresses, tapping Aethas's nose (to the irritation of the youngster). "Waste no single action, Aethas. That is how the strongest grow weak."

Aethas frowned, rubbing his nose with the back of his hand. He didn't at all understand what the older elf meant--if he failed, how could anything he had done before that be worth anything at all?--but before he could ask, a voice from inside bellowed, "Magister Songweaver! The boy!"

"Chin up, now," Aethas's companion murmured, tapping the red-haired lad under his chin when the boy sank lower in his seat. "Come on. I'll be right behind you."

Reluctantly, Aethas slid off the bench and walked into the classroom, followed by the older elf and feeling very much as though he was walking into his own very shallow grave.

His mother sat before his teacher's desk, watching her son with a mixture of pride and exasperation. Aethas couldn't even bring himself to look at the ends of her curly, fire-red hair, much less her face. How would she ever forgive him for attacking one of his teachers?

And then... there was his teacher, Magister Thalarian, standing beside the desk with his arms crossed. The straw-blond mage's robes were still scorched across his stomach, and his face was twisted in an angry scowl as his gaze fell on the source of that scorch mark... although at least now he was no longer openly threatening to drown Aethas in one of the troughs of the hawkstrider enclosure.

"Still clutching his toy," Thalarian snarled, turning his gaze on the doll Aethas still hugged firmly to his chest. "I cannot teach a weakling of his caliber, nor will I deign to any longer!"

"My son is no weakling, magister!" Aethas nearly cringed behind Magister Songweaver as his mother stood up to defend her boy. Only the man's fingertips against his back kept the poor boy in place as his mother continued, "He blasted you clear across your desk! The potential is there, Thalarian; he only needs--"

"Control," Thalarian interrupted. "Yes, the boy clearly has the power, but he lacks control of that power--much less over his own emotions. I have seen it time and again, Mistress. The mage who loses his head in class will lose his head in battle, and such magi die very young."

"He's a child, not a battlemage!" Aethas fought not to cringe at the exasperation in his mother's voice. "He still has time to learn--"

"Time I do not have to spare," Thalarian informed her simply. "I have several classes of thirty or more students each to instruct every day, Mistress. I do not have the time to teach a single defective little boy to control his own temper--"

"Perhaps that's the wrong way to go about it, Magister Thalarian."

Thalarian froze, then turned--as Aethas and his mother did--to stare at Magister Songweaver, who returned Thalarian's look evenly as he continued, "Perhaps we should _not_ try to quash young Aethas's temper, but encourage him to _use_ it--at least until he is able to work out for himself how to channel magic without it," he added before anyone could ask him to explain.

"Magister Songweaver, your enthusiasm is to be commended," Thalarian commented. His tone suggested this was the sort of thing the younger mage frequently suggested as he continued, "But your suggestion possesses one fatal flaw: The child can no more call upon his anger than he can his own power."

"No," Thalen agreed amiably. "But I can rile him up easily enough." And as he spoke, he reached down and plucked the hawkstrider toy from Aethas's arms before the boy had time to tighten his hold on it again, having allowed it to loosen as he'd listened to the two magisters speak.

The effect was immediate: The instant the doll was out of reach, Aethas yelled and reached frantically for it, only to yell again when Thalen swept it away with a chuckle.

"Come now, little master," the mage teased. "Don't you wan-- _uwomf!_ "

A brilliant violet blast shot from Aethas's outstretched hands, slamming Thalen squarely in the chest and sending him stumbling back so violently that he seemed ready to fall until his hand shot out and he caught himself on the wall. A second later, he pushed away from the wall and grabbed Aethas by the shoulder as the boy grabbed his doll from the floor and tried to bolt out of the classroom again.

"Steady, Aethas," Thalen muttered, deftly moving out of the way of a kick the boy aimed at his shin. "Steady."

"That was hardly necessary," Aethas's mother snapped, her face coloring with anger.

"It may not have been pleasant to watch," Thalen agreed calmly. "But it proved my point. And the blast appeared to be far more controlled than the one you described, Magister Thalarian," he added with an utterly winning smile.

"It did indeed." Thalarian looked to be anything but pleased about this, although it probably had more to do with Aethas having finally proven himself capable of improvement and less to do with having to admit that the younger Magister Songweaver was correct.

"I believe with a little extra guidance, Aethas may yet learn to harness his powers at will," Thalen explained, giving the boy's shoulder a reassuring squeeze as Aethas turned grudgingly back to the others in the room.

"You may well be correct," Magister Thalarian said, glaring at the red-faced redhead. "However, that would require that the boy receive extra lessons outside of his normal class schedule, as well as call for a magister or magistrix to take time out of his or her own very busy schedule to instruct him. The mage willing to put so much effort into him might as well take the boy under his or her apprenticeship."

"You say that as though no one would even consider doing so," Thalen commented with a lighthearted chuckle. "He's of age to be apprenticed, Magister. I see no reason for anyone to turn their noses up at him after a little fine-tuning."

"His _age_ is indeed part of the issue, Magister Songweaver," Thalarian sniffed, "though not, as you seem to believe, because he is too _young_." If he noticed Aethas's mother turn an even deeper shade of pink, he gave no indication of it as he elaborated, "It is the rather late hour at which he has _finally_ proven himself to possess even a shred of potential that presents the true complication. He is among the oldest children in his classes, and yet even now he can barely lay claim to the magical prowess or control of a mana wyrm. By the Light, Thalen, the boy is nearing his twelfth year already! No self-respecting member of the Magisterium will take on such a hopeless case so late into his education."

"Hopeless?" Thalen chuckled, squeezing Aethas's shoulder again as the boy tensed beside him. "I wouldn't be so quick to call the little master hopeless, Magister. All he needs is a mentor with the patience and perseverence to smooth out all his rough edges."

Oh. Well, if _that_ was all... Aethas felt himself droop slightly, and had his gaze been on his mother rather than his feet, he would have seen her do the same. The magi of Quel'thalas were many, many things, but they were not widely known for their _patience_ , particularly with those deemed to be lost causes.

Evidently Magister Thalarian agreed; he straightened up and treated Thalen with a patronizing smirk--a look he often gave Aethas whenever the boy did something particularly dim-witted--as he asked the younger mage, "And who do you suppose has the patience to take under their tutelage one so desperately lacking in refinement?"

Aethas shrank in on himself, waiting glumly for Thalen to finally see the awful truth in Magister Thalarian's words. Once his last defender backed down, Thalarian would have no further reason to refrain from expelling Aethas on the spot--as it was, the older magister was probably only humoring Thalen with this conversation. Aethas had struck _two_ magi, now; he had heard of students being expelled simply for talking back one too many times.

His stomach beginning to feel like a giant chunk of ice in his gut, Aethas squeezed his eyes shut, determined not to cry--or worse, see the look on his mother's face--when Thalarian finally passed judgment.

Thalen squeezed the boy's shoulder a third time, watching him with eyes narrowed in thought. After a moment his expression lightened again, and he turned to Thalarian with a bright smile.

"Then I'll take him," he told the older man simply.

Aethas had never before seen Thalarian show anything less than utter, unflinching composure--excluding his earlier threats to tie Aethas in a burlap sack and throw him into the nearest river. Yet even when the elf was screaming all manner of foul things in a red-faced rage, he had done so very coherently for one who had seemed to be seriously considering homicide.

There was no trace of that control now: Thalarian rather _sputtered_ , and stared in wide-eyed disbelief at Thalen as the younger man waited patiently for him to compose himself enough to speak again.

Aethas and his mother weren't either one faring much better. The Lady Sunreaver was braced, half-sitting, on the edge of Thalarian's desk, her poise momentarily forgotten. Aethas was staring up at Thalen, a mirror image of Thalarian's shock... save perhaps that Aethas was silent.

"Surely you jest," Thalarian finally managed after taking a deep, steadying breath. "Magister Songweaver, you have only just finished your own apprenticeship. If you _must_ take on a student of your own so soon, perhaps someone with far more skill--"

"--Would bore me to teach," Thalen interjected, still utterly unperturbed. "I rather think I can make something of Aethas, and unlike the many older and more reputable magi here, I have no public image to besmirch should I turn out to have made the wrong decision in taking him under my wing."

"Taking on an apprentice is far more than simply teaching a child gradually more advanced spells and theorems," Thalarian argued. "I'm not sure that you truly grasp the full scope of the relationship between master and apprentice, Thalen."

"Of course I do," Thalen replied cheerfully. "I learned it at your knee, after all."

Thalarian grimaced, and for a long moment he was silent as he regarded Thalen and Aethas both. Feeling that this would be a very bad time to pipe up, Aethas kept his mouth shut and tried not to shrink away from his teacher's withering look.

At long last, Magister Thalarian sighed and said, "If you _really_ think this boy has any potential, Magister Songweaver, then I can only wish you luck. And as for you," he added darkly to Aethas, "Count yourself fortunate, Master Sunreaver. Were it not for this, you would be packing your trunk and leaving the Magisterium with your mother."

~~~

Much, much later--after the sun had set and the sky had turned a deep, diamond-studded purple--Aethas sat on his bed in the boys' dormitory, idly turning his hawkstrider doll in his hands as he processed the day he'd had. Thalen had done more than rescue him from expulsion: Had no one taken Aethas as an apprentice before his twelfth birthday, it would have been nearly impossible to have found a master of any quality. Many considered twelve and older to be too late to start an apprenticeship--Aethas would have been forced to leave the Magisterium for good, and that would have brought shame to him _and_ his family, the majority of whom were or had once been members of the Magisterium themselves.

Magister Thalarian was right, the boy thought grudgingly. He _was_ lucky that Thalen had taken up for him--not only was he now safe from the disgrace of leaving without ever being apprenticed, but his master was perhaps the only magister he had encountered so far who treated Aethas with any measure of kindness. Aethas couldn't see any downsides... except for having to deal with his teachers for another eight years. All apprentices remained in school until their twentieth year--though it was more accurate to say that they graduated their basic schooling and went immediately on to more advanced lessons supplementary to their education under their respective masters. After that they remained apprentices until they turned thirty...

"Elfling? Aren't you hungry?"

Aethas flinched, clutching his hawkstrider doll close almost on instinct as he looked up at his visitor. Truthfully he was expecting one of the older students--one of those not-quite-twenty-year-olds who had already been apprentices for several years--but it was thankfully only Thalen, who looked at his new apprentice with some concern.

"Everyone else has already gathered for dinner," Thalen continued, coming to sit next to Aethas. "If you don't hurry downstairs, there won't be much left!"

For the first time since returning to the dormitory, Aethas looked around the room and realized he was alone. Evidently he had been deeper in thought than he'd realized.

"If you are worried about your apprenticeship, there's no need," Thalen told him shrewdly. "Other than coming to live with me, it won't be so very different from what you're already used to." He reached over and gently flicked the boy's nose as he added, "And I promise, I won't be one of those magisters who roast their apprentices over hot coals for not getting an immediate success."

Aethas flinched away from the tap on his nose, glaring as he rubbed his nose to the sound of Thalen laughing at him. Exactly where the man had picked up that irritating habit, Aethas didn't know, but if he was going to keep doing that Aethas might not have a nose left by the time he reached his thirties!

"Come on," Thalen chuckled, standing up again and straightening his robes. "If we're much longer, the only food we'll have left will be a crust of bread and that foul-smelling porridge Belo'vir is so fond of!"

Aethas laughed along with his new mentor as they left at a dignified speed for the great hall. It wasn't until later, after he had stuffed himself with good food and been sent off to sleep, that Aethas realized he hadn't brought his hawkstrider toy along.

 _Like a quel'dorei,_ he thought as he drifted contentedly off to sleep. _Like a magister._

**Author's Note:**

> I like to imagine Thalen wasn't the giant asshole we all know and despise to start with. Perhaps he started out genuinely kind and very ferociously loyal to Quel'thalas, but had strong ideas about strength and power--ideas that led to him becoming radically disillusioned when Quel'thalas was invaded and many blood elves were later nearly executed due to Garithos being a douchebag.
> 
> Even still, I think Thalen always had a soft spot for Aethas, and tried to keep his former apprentice safely out of whatever schemes he had prior to the Theramore incident. I guess Theramore was the last of Thalen's humanity (for lack of a better word) finally getting snuffed out.


End file.
